


With this cloth I bind myself to thee

by CinRose



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Accidental Marriage, Clueless!Sam, M/M, Wincest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-09
Updated: 2015-03-09
Packaged: 2018-03-17 02:58:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,703
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3512672
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CinRose/pseuds/CinRose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam wouldn't hesitate to admit that sometimes things went over his head, but not realizing he had been married to his brother for the past two years kind of took the cake. That Crowley was the one to hit him with the clue stick just made it all that more embarrassing. Sam blamed the new clothes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	With this cloth I bind myself to thee

**Author's Note:**

  * For [http://wincestislove.tumblr.com/](/gifts?recipient=http%3A%2F%2Fwincestislove.tumblr.com%2F).



“This isn’t over, Crowley,” Sam said, pointing a finger in the demon’s direction. Gravel outside of the closed bar crunched under his boots as he inched backwards towards the Impala where Dean was already waiting for him. The revving of the engine spoke of his brother’s impatience. “If we see you…”  
“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Save it, Moose. You boys know you wouldn’t know your heads from your arses without me. So instead of the threats, how about a ‘thank you,’ for a change, yeah?”  
Sam glowered,. He wasn’t about to thank Crowley for anything that may have helped him and Dean, not when most of their troubles and some of their dead loved ones were on Crowley’s head. He might admit that Crowley had been useful, might under the pain of death, but Sam wasn’t about to become buddy buddy with him any time soon. Besides, Dean had already covered that one...  
“Look,” he growled, stepping forward to loom over the stouter figure, going for intimidating. There was a small problem though; it was hard to keep the intimidating stance when his jeans were riding up uncomfortably while his shirt itched like a bitch, his posturing deemed ineffective with the way he shifted. Crowley’s brow rose, clearly catching on, and Sam flushed under the collar of his new shirt.  
“Problem there, moose? Did you forget to wear your ergonomic knickers today? Your denims do seem a little tighter than usual...” Crowley quipped as his head began to tip to get a better look at Sam’s ass. Embarrassed, Sam shifted away while still trying to make a valiant attempt at keeping his game face on. Behind them Dean cranked up the music to get Sam’s attention. Soon he’d start honking the horn.  
“They’re new,” Sam said defensively. He had woken up that morning to find new clothes on top of his dresser. Not just new to him, but new. Fresh from a retail store, never worn before, new. Which also meant that they weren’t worn and broken into, which was a feeling Sam frankly just wasn’t used to. So the jeans rode up weirdly and the shirts were itchy, but everything fit perfectly. Or would, once he broke them in.  
“Mmmhmm. Present, no doubt?” Sam flushed harder under Crowley’s scrutiny and inched towards the car. The tags on the shirt got him in just the right way that had him frantically scratching the itch between his shoulder blades before he thought better. Crowley smirked.  
“From Dean. For my…”  
“Ah, yes, I see now. Cotton. Has it really been two years? Funny how time flies when you’re busy trying to stop Squirrel from tearing the world apart.”  
Sam stopped in his tracks, brow furrowing. Dean honked then, once in warning. Sam ignored it for the moment.  
“What are you talking about?”  
“Your anniversary?” Crowley retorted. Sam frowned harder. “Don’t tell me you forgot. Oh! You don’t even know, do you? Oh now that’s just precious. And I thought you were the genius.” Confusion bled into frustration, and infernal itch or not, Sam was back in Crowley’s personal space, growling.  
“Crowley…”  
“Oh don’t give me that! It’s not my fault that you didn’t even realize you were married to your brother! And that big brother knows just makes it even more rich. Just beautiful, really.”  
The confusion returned.  
“What? B-but… We’re not!”  
“Oh, but you are. I’d have a chat with Dean-o, if I were you. Or wait a year. I’d love to see what he gets you. The third year is leather, after all,” Crowley said and with a wink, he was gone. Sam stared at the spot he had just vacated, left with more questions than answers. Behind him Dean leaned on the horn and started yelling for him. Shaking his head, Sam turned around and trudged back to the car to slide inside next to Dean.  
“Dude, what the hell was that about? Were you guys exchanging Tinder information or something?” Sam didn’t have his heart in the withering glare he sent Dean as he slammed his door shut.  
“No, just Crowley being an ass. So get this, he actually thinks we’re married. Like officially,” Sam said, watching Dean’s reaction through the corner of his eyes. Dean jerked slightly, hands tightening around the steering wheel. His incredulous laugh sounded forced.  
“But that’s crazy, right?” Sam hedged. Dean’s mouth thinned before he licked his lips. Sam tracked the movement and was caught distracted by the wet sheen of Dean’s mouth for a beat.  
“Uh, yeah! Totally crazy. I mean,” Dean huffed a laugh. “Us? Married? That’s insane.”  
Sam hummed noncommittally while the wheels in his head spun. 

Sam couldn’t stop thinking about the exchange. Through the five hour drive it was all he could think about while pretending to sleep. Dean had the volume cranked high to drown out other noises, making it blatantly clear that he wasn’t in the mood to talk. It suited Sam just fine because he needed to think.  
Why would anyone think that he and Dean were married? There would have to have been some kind of ceremony or a rite, wouldn’t there? And vows, an officiator or at least a witness. The closest they had come to any of that was back at the church, what, two years ago? When Sam had been trying to close the gates of hell. Which he had failed because Dean stopped him and told him to let it go.  
Two years ago. Exactly two years? But say that it was, could that really count? They had fought, not declared their undying love. Granted, there had been some declarations made, but while it was in a church, that still couldn’t have counted. Not officially.  
When they got back to the bunker Sam couldn’t get out of the car fast enough. He grabbed his share of their stuff and marched to the door. He was a man on a mission.  
“So hey, I’m thinking of cooking tonight. Do you want…” Sam’s footsteps echoed on the stairs as he rushed down them. Dean’s voice trailed off, a hint of disappointment there that didn’t quite register with Sam.  
“I need to do some research,” he said, making a beeline for his lap top on the table.  
“Nerd. Whatever, I’ll just throw a few things together, then.”  
Sam could only grunt, tossing his things beside his chair before sitting down. He flipped the old computer open and waited for it to load. As always, he had a vague sense of Dean puttering around but mostly just blocked everything out. He had to get to the bottom of all this.  
It was called handfasting. A wiccan ceremony of commitment that involved binding your beloved’s hand in a cloth, or more traditionally, trying your hands together. The fasting had to be done while declaring intent, which Dean had pretty much covered, and in a church no less. Sam had read through every document he could find online, and even when he thought he had found loopholes, he was proven wrong. They had had a witness, Crowley, and the other loophole broken were the four elements. While unintentionally, they had still been present.  
Sam remembered the wind and rain; remembered cold sheets falling through the cracks in the roof and over him and Dean as they scrambled through the howling wind for the impala. The floorboards in the church had given away to rot. Weeds grew in the cracks while mud and dirt was more prevalent as a floor than wooden slats were. As for fire, it had burned in Sam’s veins under his skin from the ritual that was supposed to close the gates to Hell.  
While no state would acknowledge it, by all rights, they were married. Or more importantly, they were married in Dean’s mind. Well, maybe.  
So Crowley may have had a point about the clothes. After a little research, Sam had found out that the traditional gift to give on the second year anniversary was cotton. It explained why Dean had gone out to get Sam clothes in the first place, and brand new ones at that.  
Okay, but what about their first year? Sam couldn’t remember Dean getting him anything special, not anything like new clothes anyways. He tapped his fingers over his laptop and tried to think back a year. It had been a pretty eventful year, and by eventful Sam meant ‘bad’, but if the… the marriage really meant anything to Dean, then he would have done something. So May 20th. And on that day they were…  
Tracking down Abaddon. And then Dean went ballistic and killed her. Okay, so Dean had a valid reason for not doing anything for their supposed anniversary. But it was Dean, who was a stickler for such things. Sam continued to think back, trying to remember if they had had any down time at all after Abaddon, but right after her they went on the hunt after Metatron, so that was a big nope.  
And after Metatron... Dean died and turned into a demon. Sam blew a deep breath and sat back in his chair, head bowed. So even if Dean really did believe that they were married, they hadn't even been given the chance to celebrate their first year, or in Sam’s case, not even realize they were celebrating it, because they had been too busy. Then Dean was gone.  
Sam couldn’t help but wonder what Dean would have done had they the time, and provided that Dean did think they were married. Still, the thought had merit.  
The first year was supposed to be celebrated with paper, so knowing Dean, he probably would have left sticky notes all over the bunker in inconvenient places with ridiculous sayings or pictures on them. Sam probably would have woken up with one stuck to his forehead, likely with a penis drawn on it or something similar. Despite himself, just thinking about the theoretical post it notes made the corner of Sam’s lips quirked up.  
Or maybe Dean would have written a note? Writing wasn’t really his thing though. Sam had never received notes from him before, unless they were case related. The only exception being… Sam’s head snapped up as realization dawned.  
No.  
No fucking way. Dean wouldn’t. Granted, Dean had been a demon at the time and let’s be real, Sam had been lucky to get a note at all. But if that was the reason... Oh that bastard. 

The note was right where Sam had left it. Folded neatly, it was tucked in his underwear drawer beneath a silver crucifix. Sam pulled it out and carefully opened the note. His throat tightened at the words as memories of terror and rage fuelled months of Sam searching for his brother swam to the surface. Licking his lips, Sam read the note even if the words were forever burned in his mind.  
Sammy, let me go.  
So that was what Dean had considered an appropriate first year wedding gift? A note telling Sam to let him go when it in fact had the opposite effect. Which Dean should have known, if he knew Sam as well as he said he did. But maybe Dean had known. Maybe that had been his intent the whole time, to have Sam come after him.  
“Sammy? Are you down here?” Sam folded the note while he listened to Dean walk closer to the bedroom. Behind him trailed the scent of garlic and pasta sauce. “Man, I’ve been looking for you forever. Are you going to come and eat or what?”  
Sam turned around with the note still in hand. Dean stood outside of Sam’s door looking miffed, but Sam was more focused on the plate in his hands. Piled high was spaghetti and meatballs, the meatballs obviously hand made and it smelled amazing. It was also Sam’s favorite dish, which Dean usually only made on special occasions like Sam’s birthday, but that year Dean had made him spinach omelettes instead and hadn’t even bitched about how tasteless they were. So the clothes and spaghetti obviously weren’t a late birthday present as Sam had assumed that morning with the clothes. No, Dean had saved those for a different special occasion.  
“Dean, are we? Are we married?” Sam asked tentatively and waited for World War III. He wasn’t disappointed. Dean’s expression shut down. Without a word, he took one step back and began turning on his heel. It was all the answer Sam needed.  
“I’ll just set this on the table, then,” Dean said as he spun around and in all intents and purposes, fled.  
“Dean, wait!” Sam started forward only to stop himself. He turned back around real quick to snatch something off the back of his chair. Then with it in one hand, the note in the other, Sam raced after Dean.  
He found him at the table, (cleared off and wiped down), setting down Sam’s plate right where Sam preferred to sit. Across from his was another plate meant for Dean with the silverware perfectly set. All they needed was a candle.  
“We need to talk.”  
“You know, I’m not really that hungry. So I think I’m just…” Dean began to turn around, only to find himself crowded against the edge of the table as Sam slid right into his brother’s personal space. He caged Dean in, fists planted on the polished wood. Their eyes met when Dean’s eyes snapped up and Sam knew fully well that this could end with him getting decked. Dean didn’t like being cornered.  
“You didn’t answer my question, Dean. Are. We. Married?” Dean looked away, his expression scrunched up and pained. His hands remained at his sides but balled into fists. He was practically vibrating with tension. Sam exhaled, nostrils flaring, and tried a different approach to getting past his brother’s walls. “Okay, let me word it in a different way, as far as you’re concerned, are we married?”  
Dean’s hands came up to Sam’s chest and he pushed. Sam refused to be budged.  
“This is ridiculous, Sam! Crowley always makes jokes about us being married but now you let it twist your panties? Dude, seriously, back off!”  
Sam slapped his hand on the table, earning Dean’s attention with the crunch of paper. His head snapped to the side, eyes widening at the sight of the yellow piece of paper now on the table. Then they narrowed. Sam slid his hand free to show off Dean’s written scrawl.  
“That was your gift, a twisted version of a gift, for the first anniversary. New clothes, cotton clothing meets the requirements for the second. The meal is obvious bonus. So, are you going to answer my question now? Though it is pretty clear to me. ANd don’t just tell me that I’m reading too much into this,” Sam said.  
Dean looked back at him. His jaw ticked and eyes were hard as steel. He looked ready to punch Sam in any second.  
“Look Dean, if I had known…” Sam began to say but was silenced when Dean shoved. Hard. It was enough to push Sam back for Dean to make his escape but Sam didn’t let him get far. He lunged after Dean and grabbed him by the shoulders. As he expected, Dean immediately fought back, ducking under Sam’s touch and spinning around to throw a punch. Sam dodged it easily and charged forward to slam his brother into the nearest wall.  
“Dean, stop! Stop! And just listen, okay? Please?” Sam pinned Dean by the shoulders, the article he had grabbed dangled between them. His chest heaved with a heavy breath, adrenaline now coursing through his system. He could feel Dean’s pulse race under his thumb through his black shirt. Sam rubbed it over the jut of Dean’s collarbone and watched how his brother shuddered.  
“Dean, if I had known…” Sam took a step back to they weren’t quite breathing in each other’s air so deeply. He took a deep breath to try to calm his nerves and then reached for Dean’s wrist. Without looking away from deep green eyes, Sam began to tie the scarf, a gift from Dean, around his brother’s hand. “I would have reciprocated.”  
Finally Dean went still. Whether that was a good thing or ot, Sam wasn’t sure.  
“What?” Dean asked breathlessly, as if he couldn’t get enough air. Sam began to wrap the scarf around his hand as well. He wanted to get it perfectly right that time, even if it technically didn’t count.  
“Two years, Dean, and I didn’t know. I wish I had. I would have celebrated it too, and I’m a little mad you never gave me that chance. But that’s behind us now.”  
Sam broke eye contact then to look down at their hands, bound in soft, grey cloth. With care he tied a simple knot. Dean’s hand began to tremble against his. Sam on the other hand was completely calm.  
“So this is?”  
“As I told you, Dean, my biggest regret is that I’ve let you down and now I feel that I’ve done it again. You carried this for two years. Two years. I didn’t know, I honestly didn’t, but that is still two years I didn’t get to give you something for our anniversary. I didn’t get to show you…”  
His gaze flicked up and caught Dean’s. His eyes were bright green and the fight had fled from him. He looked shocked, and expectant.  
“Show me?” He breathed, looking like he barely dared to hope. Sam shuffled forward until their bodies were pressed flush together. His free hand came up to cup Dean’s cheek while Dean’s clasped the side of Sam’s neck, his hand warm and familiar.  
“That I love you, too,” Sam whispered. His eyes dropped to Dean’s lips and something within them finally snapped. It was impossible to tell who moved first, but it was more likely that they moved together as they did in all things, to crash their lips in a deep, heartfelt kiss.  
Sam expected to feel guilt. He had been carrying it as Atlas carried the world on his back for decades, weighed down more each year he carried his illicit love for his brother. Yet at the touch of their lips the guilt was set free, taking that massive weight with it. Sam sighed against Dean’s lips, relieved.  
“So,” Dean said as he pulled back, tongue darting out to presumably chase the taste of Sam on his lips. He looked dazed. It was a good look on him. “Does this mean I don’t have to count our last vacay as a late honeymoon? ‘Cause a real one sounds pretty good if I’m honest.”  
Sam laughed and brought their bound hands together up so he could undo the knot with his teeth. Dean’s eyes darkened, clearly getting a few ideas, just as Sam had hoped. He grinned around the knot and pulled it free. Sam needed to touch Dean properly yesterday.  
“Does that mean we have to wait for the honeymoon to consummate the marriage?” Sam asked while the cloth unraveled. Dean made a low sound deep in his chest and reached for Sam with his freed hand, fingers tangling in Sam’s hair.  
“Oh God, I hope not.” 

Sam’s gasp was muffled by the wet heat of Dean’s mouth when his back hit the hallway wall that lead to the bedrooms. The brick was cold and harsh against his bare skin, his shirt having been discarded during their mad dance to the nearest bed. He was glad to be free of that damn itch from the tags, but only to have it replaced by a more maddening one that raged under his skin. Dean seemed to be doing his damnest to scratch it.  
“Two god damn years,” he groaned against Sam’s neck, lips smearing over the stubble on his way to suck bruises over Sam’s collarbone. His hands were rubbing over Sam’s chest and arms, leaving trails of fire in their wake. Meanwhile Sam was panting and clutching at Dean’s shirt, just trying to hold on.  
“You should’ve… You should have told me,” he forced out, tugging Dean’s shirt up. Dean stopped abruptly, pulling a confused whimper from Sam. He glanced down to meet Dean’s pointed look and flushed. Yeah, okay. Dean didn’t need to say anything.  
“Okay, I get why you didn’t tell me but… Two years,” he argued and Dean attacked Sam’s throat again with a noise of agreement. Sam’s head thunk back as he groaned, but he only allowed the onslaught for a moment. Then he was nudging Dean back enough to balance the playing field and yank Dean’s shirt off, messing up his hair in the process.  
Fuck, he was gorgeous. Lips kiss stung and swollen, freckles a splash of constellations in contrast to the background of pleasure flushed skin, eyes lust blown. Sam caught his breath and looked, now that he was allowed to look. It wasn’t like Dean wasn’t doing the same.  
“Whose room?” Sam finally asked to break the silence, and the spell around them shattered. Dean’s hands shot out to grab Sam by the belt loops so he could begin tugging them down the hall. Sam, of course, went willingly.  
“Mine,” Dean said decisively. “Memory foam bed, remember? Fuck, I’ve been wanting to have sex in that bed for ages.”  
Sam’s laugh ghosted over the shell of Dean’s ear. With one hand spread between Dean’s shoulder blades, Sam didn’t miss the way he shivered. Smirking to himself, he then sought out to see if he could make Dean lose his footing by catching the lobe between his teeth and flicking it with his tongue. Dean stumbled with a curse and inadvertently yanked their hips together in a bid to keep his balance. Sam considered that a victory.  
“Bastard.” Sam could only laugh while nudging Dean back on track. The sooner they got to a bed, the better. In reality, they had more than just two years to make up for.  
“B-besides, for what I have in mind, we’re going to need something to ease the way and I know you don’t have any lube.” That time it was Sam’s turn to stumble.  
“Uh… No, I don’t, but how do you know that? And wait, is this you saying that you do? Have lube that is?” Sam stopped them that time because he was intrigued. They knew each other a little too intimately in some cases, having lived out of duffels and the car for the majority of their lives. Nothing had been private until they moved into the bunker and had actual drawers to put things in. And before then the most Dean carried around in his bag for ‘self care’ had been lotion and skin mags.  
“Had chapped lips, knew you kept some lip balm around because you’re a girl like that so I looked in your room. Dude, you don’t even have condoms,” Dean jibed and continued to lead them to his room. His hands started to undo Sam’s belt, Dean’s eyes firmly locked on the bulge beneath Sam’s fly. Sam knew when someone was trying to distract him.  
“That doesn’t answer my second question, Dean,” he said in a low, sing song voice right as they came to Dean’s door. Sam never gave his brother the chance to open it, instead pushing Dean up against the door and pin him by the hips. Dean was so easy, eyes rolling upwards as Sam ground their erections together. Now who was distracted?  
“W-what was the other question?”  
“Why. Do. You. Have. Lube?” Sam punctuated each word with a sensual roll of his hips that had Dean melting into the door and squeezing Sam’s waist until it hurt. There would be bruises, Sam was sure of it. Or that could just be wishful thinking.  
When it was clear that Sam wasn’t going to get any answers, he figured he could fill in the blanks himself. He slid his hands down Dean’s arm, leaving a wake of gooseflesh, and then grabbed Dean’s wrists. It was very telling that Dean would so readily let Sam guide his arms up and pin his wrists to the door with one hand wrapped around them.  
“You know what I think? I think the reason why you suddenly have lube is because of this,” Sam said, pushing his free hand between their groins to cup Dean through his jeans. His dick twitched against Sam’s palm and his brother made a delicious strangled sound. “This being how much you want me. But it’s more than that, isn’t it?” He purred darkly and squeezed. He was going to get addicted to the way Dean squirmed.  
“God look at you, you really do want it. Want me. And not just like this, either. You want me to fuck you.” Dean keened, hips jerking forward as the front of his jeans grew damp. Sam growled in the back of his throat and latched his teeth to the exposed column of Dean’s throat. He nipped and bit then sucked red, angry claims into Dean’s skin.  
“So we’re married, unbeknownst to me, but not to you. To you we’re married, have been for two years, and I know how things can spin in your head. Over and over, it would churn and fester. You remembered the date, knew what the appropriate gifts were, did little things to celebrate while trying to go unnoticed, and all the while you thought about us. So you bought lube for when you thought of us together, consummating the marriage. Now what would you be doing with the lube, Dean?”  
Dean shouted when Sam bit him hard on the juncture of neck and shoulder, dick jumping and his jeans and that damp patch grew. Sam let off so Dean could answer him and laved at the throbbing bite mark. He let up on squeezing Dean’s erection, now slowly rubbing his palm in concentric circles.  
“Tell me, Dean,” he ordered in a honey sweet tone.  
“Just…” Dean licked his lips, throat clicking on a dry swallow. “Slicked the way at first. Make the glide nice and easy when I jerked off. Then got a little more adventurous,” he admitted. Sam moaned and grazed his teeth over Dean’s sternum.  
“You fucked yourself, didn’t you?” He demanded and slid his hand back to grip Dean’s balls as best he could. Big brother whimpered and spread his legs. “Didn’t you?”  
“Yes! Ah fuck, yes Sammy, fucked myself open, thinking about you. Now can we please!” His words were choked off as Sam squeezed a little too hard.  
“Fuck, Dean. So you lubed yourself up for me. Made yourself wet like a good wife.”  
“God damn it, Sam! I’m about...” Sam let Dean go abruptly to pull him aside. He all but yanked the door open and was then shoving Dean inside with predatory intent. He was straining, hard enough to pound nails. Time for foreplay was over.  
“Show me.” 

“God, look at you take your fingers like they’re nothing. You were born to be fucked,” Sam crooned as he slowly pumped his lube sticky fist over his dick. He was hungrily watching Dean open himself for Sam on the bed, naked skin gleaming in the low light that danced over the sheen of sweat that covered Dean’s body. He coveted the dusting of freckles that Sam just wanted to lick. Every. Single. One. All the while thinking of how he needed to sink his teeth into the flexing muscles of Dean’s shoulders, back, and thighs as he reached behind himself to shove three fingers inside his hole. And Sam didn’t think he could want his brother more than he did right at that moment.  
Squirting another generous amount of lube over his fingers, Sam placed the tube on the nightstand then joined Dean on the bed. He shuffled forward on his knees between Dean’s feet, watching the play of muscles in Dean’s firm, round ass. Giving into the ache to touch, he ran his hand over the globe of Dean’s left cheek and squeezed. Dean muffled a moan into the pillows as Sam pulled him open to watch his puffy hole flex around his fingers. Sam never expected to be so turned on at the sight. He had to touch.  
“Enjoying the view?” Dean quipped brokenly then made a sweet, garbled sound as Sam pushed a slick finger against the three shoved in deep. Dean tried to jerk his hand back but Sam quickly clamped his hand around Dean’s wrist and continued to push his finger inside. Dean was white hot, and so, so tight. His fingers twitched against Sam’s, and then curled when Sam began to curl his. His whole body shook on a high whimper and Sam’s eyes widened when he realized why.  
“Was that your prostate? God, how did that feel?”  
“Sam,” Dean whined. It sounded like a warning. Sam crooked his finger again just to watch Dean jolt and choke. That time when Dean struggled to get his hand free Sam backed off and pulled out at well.  
“You’re a fucking tease!” Sam ignored the glare Dean directed over his shoulder and moved his slicked hand over his dick. Dean was tight as sin and Sam… wasn’t small. Despite all the numerous threats of bodily harm he’s made over the years, Sam didn’t actually want to hurt him.  
“What position do you think is better? I kind of, okay I really want to see you but…” Dean stopped sniping to roll onto his back and then he was reaching for Sam with frantic impatience.  
“Want to see you too. Now will you hurry up and fuck me? Or for God’s sake at least fucking kiss…” Sam surged forward, planting one hand on Dean’s chest to push him down into the mattress while he chased after Dean’s perfect mouth. They kissed as if it was their last night on Earth, Sam pouring everything he felt into it. His love, his gratitude that Dean would give him that, would even want him back. It was everything Sam never dared to think he’d have because it was… Perfect. Dean was perfect. He was everything to Sam and there he was, wrapping his legs around Sam’s waist and reaching down, between their bodies.  
“Dean,” Sam moaned, breath exploding from his lungs as fingers wrapped around his dick. He guided Dean to his hole, and oh fuck, bloomed around him. Then nothing but tight, slick heat and pleasure so rich Sam could cry. It had been years since he had been with someone and even then, it had never felt like this. Could never feel like this.  
“Dean.” His brother’s name fell reverently from slack lips as he was engulfed, hips stuttering while Dean rocked up into him. He shook beneath Sam, chest heaving, but if he was in any pain, he didn’t show it. So Sam didn’t stop, couldn’t stop, hips rocking back and forth in increments, sliding in deeper and deeper each time.  
“Yeah, yeah, like that, Sam. Just like that, baby boy. Come on, don’t hold out on me.” Dean slid a hand through Sam’s damp hair, the other stroke down the knobs of his spine, soothing him. Sam wasn’t sure why Dean felt the need to do that, felt like he should have been the one keeping Dean calm, and then he pressed his face into Dean’s neck and became aware of the tears bleeding hot over his cheeks. Sam inhaled sharply, the sound just barely below a sob.  
“Dean.”  
“I know, I know, Sammy. RIght with you, baby.” Sam choked on another sob and reached with with needy hands to grasp Dean’s face. He lifted his head, eyes wet as he just stared at Dean. His Dean. God, his husband.  
“I love you,” he said like it was forced out of him but meant with all his heart. Dean nodded once, both hands now stroking through Sam’s hair.  
“I know. You too.” Dean pulled him down, sipped at his mouth then kissed him deeply. Sam moved then, giving into instinct, to pull slowly out then push back in. Dean undulated against him and made the most beautiful, heart breaking sound so Sam had to repeat the motion. Again and again.  
They soon found their rhythm, bodies moving as one while their reverent moans were muffled by their sweet, breathless kisses. Their displays of dominance were gone, touches gentle. They were equals, no one’s pleasure more important than the other’s. Together. They were in it together. Body and soul.  
Sam had his eyes open when Dean came, just seconds before Sam. He watched his brother’s, eyes slam shut and body arch against his. Dean came untouched and silent, spilling hot between their stomachs while his body clamped down around Sam. Beautiful. So beautiful. Sam wished he had been given more time to admire Dean lost in the ecstasy Sam had given him, but was soon overcome by his own climax. Sam saw stars.  
They were a mess of sweaty bodies and tangled limbs when Sam fell back to earth. Dean was collapsed beneath him, wheezing slightly with each breath. When Sam was able to lift up a little and look, Dean had the goofiest, most blissed out expression he had ever seen post coital. He couldn’t help but laugh while his heart just swelled for his brother. His lover. His husband. Or rather, his wife.  
“Shuddup,” Dean complained and only had enough energy to weakly nudge Sam’s foot with his. “And ‘m not a wife.” Sam laughed harder because he had just been thinking that and buried it into Dean’s shoulder. He wrapped his arms around his brother and held on for dear life.  
“You so are,” he said, then proceed to make sure that Dean had no room to complain. 

For their third anniversary Dean got new leather seats for Baby and Sam didn’t even mind that they messed them up within the first ten minutes. Actually, he had expected that. As for him, let’s just say that Dean got him something that would have made Crowley proud. Not that he was ever going to know.

**Author's Note:**

> This is for the one year anniversary of meeting my best friend and wifey, Bi. You can all thank (or blame) her for me getting so deeply involved in Wincest. This is for you, darling! Happy Anniversary.


End file.
